Doubts and Spinning Tops
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: (Part THREE added!) ^_^ My *soon* to be Harry/Draco slash begin... with bitter doubts, night time angst, and now- Draco finds he's not as alone as he believes...
1. Starting to Spin

Doubts and Spinning Tops   
  
By Kay   
  
Disclaimer: Oh, if I only owned Harry Potter and company... ::shines:: Then I would put Draco in pretty clothes and make him the star! YAY!   
  
Author's Notes: Well. This is my first finished HP fic... god help you all. ^_^;; Being the absurd, obsessive Draco-fan I am, it's naturally revolving around him. Part of me is DYING to do more, and make it a SLASH, but... ayi, that all just depends, I suppose. Very angsty. If you don't like Draco- this probably isn't for you! And if you like GOOD, in character fiction- this probably isn't for you!   
  
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It's another long night devoid of moonlight and sleep again.   
  
There's something incredibly strange and unearthly about not being able to rest your eyes so late in the twilight's fall, when the quiet dorm rooms are filled with soft sighs and loud snoring from each particular bed. Crabbe especially, he's always had a horrible case of talking in his sleep, and usually about things I'd rather not hear about in this lifetime or the next. It's a wonder we manage to sleep at night.   
  
Or rather, it's a wonder *they* manage to sleep at night. If I were in the same state as they obviously are at the moment, then I wouldn't even know about Crabbe's problem. There wouldn't be any knowledge of the way the shadows shift and blend together against the dark stone granite of our bedroom walls, twisting to contort into wispy, shaded tints that are easy on the eyes. If I were able to dream contently as the rest of the foolish people in this school do, then I would never be able to tell you just how the starlight comes through our small window near the cieling, streaming in with gentle threads to glimmer on the floors and bedspreads.   
  
The night is beautiful without a moon, less threatening, as though the large eye watching you constantly in the sky suddenly removed itself without excuse, to the great relief of all. Without a glowing orb in the sky, the dark bruised purples and blacks weaved together like watercolour paints drenched in water, and everything was the mysterious colours they painted. It was beautiful, watching the black heavens swallow the stars.   
  
However, I'd rather have my sleep, thanks. Shifting drowsily, the heavy perfume of late hour seeps into my head, clouding rational, clear thoughts. It's addictive, that haze, and chances are I won't be sleeping tonight. Not that I ever do now.   
  
It's strange, how quickly someone's life can change. Months ago, at the beginning of the Hogwart's school semester, I would have been joining my fellow Slytherins in blissful slumber. Now, all I could do was sprawl myself out on my back over the bedspread, flinging my arms out to the corners in lazy exhaustion, and stare impassively at a dead cieling with alive, silver eyes. There was no peace.   
  
Nothing was forthcoming, so why did I ever bother to admit it? As though it could change?   
  
Not impossible. Change is reasonable, although horribly scalding to someone from a family like mine. Tradition is a rigid law of fact, keeping everyone in line, and knocking the unworthy out. That's what my father says, and I believe in it. If people just accepted everything that came along to them, the world would be a sorrid mess of idoicy. Such as the Mudbloods- there was no doubt they'd probably make a mess of everything, tarnished people. Not that I'm one to talk about not being tarnished- sometimes I feel as though I'm just as stained as the rest of them.   
  
I'm changing, you realize. I do believe my father's going to hate it.   
  
Detached from myself with the observation of someone not interested in themselves, I calmly trace the cracks withering above me in the cieling rocks. The entire room, as well as the commons lounge, is marked by the rough granite stones that create it. Cozy place, isn't it? One could freeze in rooms like these, if it wasn't for the fact we never were anything but cold to begin with.   
  
I wanted to shiver in the chill of the night, but my spine has been taught to stay strong. There's no relief coming in the future from that, just like everything else that will come forth. Damn the world for not seeing it like others have.   
  
My father will be joining the Dark Lord soon; I can feel it deep within me like a constant ache, a desperate, grim uprising of hot madness within my chest. Months ago, I rejoiced at this sign, believing in it would lie my key to completion- but I have seen past that. The world is being struck slowly by the chaos of Lord Voldemort, and I'm still missing parts of myself I expected to fill immeadiatly.   
  
So. Step back, evaluate, and ignore the fact your father expects you to become a Death Eater. Ignore the fact you have no friends, only untrustworthy allies now, who would betray you in an instant if it meant staying loyal to the Dark Lord. Such lovely choices!   
  
My hands clench the cool, silk bedsheets beneath me.   
  
No one can understand me now, not myself, nor anyone close to me. It's not even a question of understanding, but acceptance, which is even harder to guarantee these days. And somewhere in the dim corners of my dazed mind, I'm aware that what I say makes no sense anymore, but that's alright. Life wasn't making sense, so it was only right.   
  
My father was going to hate me. I stared at the cieling when I remembered that.   
  
It wasn't as though he dared to love me before- to Lucius Malfoy, I am nothing more than his precious heir, destined for greatness in the shadows of the Dark Lord's footsteps. There is no "Draco", there is only "Draco Malfoy", the one with the impressive name. Not once in the years I lived with him has he ever introduced me as just simple "Draco". I'm not even sure why it bothers me anymore, why it fails to strike me as important but still irks at the strings of my consciouseness.   
  
My father is a cruel man. I have seen this first hand, in various situations, either relating to myself or someone else. You would never know the harshness a single slap can bring when accompanied by the right words- to break someone with mental strategies, placed at such young ages that they build higher as they grow older- he plays with that game. Because of his administrations, his molding of me, I understand him.   
  
I can't hate him. I can't love him anymore. I lost the ability to love at a young age; my cousin Jashin once remarked I am nothing but the shell of a human, a puppet created by my place in life to ensure continuation of the "Malfoy Family Honour".   
  
Fourteen years of living with my family, and I have yet to see any honour.   
  
With my mother, it is different, of course. Narcissa Malfoy... sometimes I'm not really sure if she really is my mother, even though she cares about me as though she was. Does that make any coherent sense? That a woman who passed on her hair and grace to me, took care of me and tried to protect me from the dark secrets of our family in my youth, she might not truly be my mother. There is no bond between us, despite her attempts to start one.   
  
It aches. Harshly, painfully, that I cannot even love my own mother. If she is mine. If I am truly hers, and not just my father's creation.   
  
The cieling blurs slightly before my eyes, a sheen of surface water filling them. I make a move to brush the strange, foreign water drops away from my cool skin, lingering over them as though they were precious silver diamonds. Perhaps they were even more valuable than that. It's not every day a Malfoy cries- I daresay it's been a generation or two before that's actually happened.   
  
I'm the first failure, I suppose. The first heir to have these doubts, these traiterous thoughts that poison my mind with fierce, burning sensations and ideas. Normalicy is something I'd hate to accomplish, being that it's disgusting how most people live, but the idea that perhaps I could achieve an unordinary life still, without The Dark Lord... that is dangerous to think. And so addictive.   
  
In the years my father's raised me, I have never been a truly loyal son, neither to his ridiculous cause or him. You cannot respect a man who twists the world to fit his own distorted vision, but is groveling and kissing the filth-ridden black robe hems of another wizard. Fear, a dreadful sort of screaming in agony fear, there's plenty of that which whirls constantly in my head, but there's no respect anymore. I remain silent in his presence now. Soon he might even notice.   
  
How do you tell someone who could destroy you, because they made you, that you want to live the life of a human? Not a puppet on strings of wire, but the life of making your own decisions about who to hate and taunt, what world you want to live in. Not a puppet in danger of being burned as firewood for just letting down his defenses, if only for a moment, and enjoying what the sunlight has to offer.   
  
Sunshine is tempting, even more so than the night. People claim it's the Dark Arts that weave into a person's mind, taking root and igniting desire to join them. What they don't realize is that the side of good is just as powerful in that aspect, offering the change to be "right". The chances to be alive, a human in your own degree, without fear of stained souls.   
  
They don't know how good they have it, the idiots. Potter and his gange of freaks- they don't see how wonderful and amazing it must be, to live in a place where you don't have to fear your own family, or make the wrong move. Where you're in danger of turning everyday.   
  
Betrayal. It beckons to me. Yet-   
  
I would not go against the Dark Lord if it killed me. Only if I lived long enough to feel that warmth...   
  
I'm such a fine one to speak of warmth. Lying here, dead to the world on a cold, hard bed that digs into the slender bones in my back, a broken doll. Doubts tear at my soul, urging me to turn away, and I'm not sure if it counts as being a traitor if you were never on the good side at all in the first place. Does it count? Do I count?   
  
Do I even want to stray to the light anymore... away from these moonless nights of wondering, debating, ignoring the tight, slick fire burning inside of me like fear, only harsher. It's consuming me whole, keeps my skin feverish and hot, my soft strands of hair sticking to the back of my neck. I'm afraid of the answers to my doubts and questions, and even more scared that the answers will be something I won't be able to accept in time.   
  
What will it take to escape this hell? I can't serve the Dark Lord, the rebellious part of my nature resists him in a plea of instinctive survival. At the same time, I can't join the side, Harry Potter's side, because my own hatred and bitterness would melt in the light offered to me, and they're such a huge part of my soul already that I could never be entirely whole without them. Couldn't be safe from anyone, either.   
  
Yet I doubt. I grasp the concepts held to me by the moonless night sky, and I doubt.   
  
I believe the spell my father has put over me is broken, sometimes. Perhaps I won't be a puppet any longer, if I could only cut those strings.   
  
Crabbe's snores echo in the bed a few down from my own, and I sigh gently in the night air streaming through the window. The faint arouma of wet grass and forest heightens my already charged adrenaline, causing my thoughts to spin faster, quickly spinning thoughts, like a top that Muggle's put on the table and twirl with a string. I'd seen one in London once.   
  
I wonder if I'm like a top, spinning and whirling, until I fall off the table.   
  
I wonder what side of the table I shall fall from.   
  
I wonder... does anyone even care?   
  
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OWARI...? ^_^;; If anyone really likes it, and actually WANTS me to continue this god-awful rambling thing... and actually have something happen besides OOC babbling... tell me! And I WILL write it! ::blushes:: Sorry if no one likes it... it's my first HP fic... YAY! Go Draco-chan! (Tell me if you want slash... heh... cause that's the only romantic pairing I DO.)   
  
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	2. Stolen Toys and Hallways

Doubts and Spinning Tops  
  
Part Two by Kay  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Really. ^_^;; I don't! I promise! .... well, okay, so maybe I've been trying to buy Draco-chan for a few months...  
  
Author's Notes: Heheheh, I'm evil... two person reviewed, so I figured, what the heck!? Let's write more! ^_^ (You poor people...) Again- total Draco angst fic. If you want slash, I'll gladly add some in there, but I don't do other romances except slash ones.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When I was seven, I saw my first spinning top.  
  
It was a small, red plastic toy that Muggles produced, being the stupid, easily entertained sort of humans they can be. Although, for being not our kind, they do have moments where even I admit I'm curious to their inventions. The first time I saw that toy, a small scarlett object shaped vaguelly as a cone, there was the intense urge to examine it's irregularities.  
  
A child about four years old was making it spin on a table that sat outside a cafe, just a shop away from where my father was making a deal. I can recall the summer heat even now, blessed with a sharp memory, and how it made the back of my shirt stick to the base of my neck heatedly. There was no breeze, and it was impossibly hot standing in the middle of the burning sidewalk, clinging to my father's oversized hand. He wasn't even paying attention to me, only jabbering on about god know's what to some business man, something about books and magic that I didn't understand.  
  
Squinting to the left and right, my flashing eyes finally caught that spinning top- an interesting thing in the boring midst of the street. The little boy kept trying to make it go, urging it to go faster, "Round n' round! G'round!" before falling into giggles as it slipped off the table edge.  
  
I wanted to run over, desperatly curious and delighted at the strange device that stayed up on its own, and play with it. Make it go round n' round, like the boy was.  
  
It fell off the table. I let go of my father's hand and went to pick it up, smooth in my hands, hot plastic. Simple. Ingenious.  
  
The little boy ran off with his mother, and I kept it in my pocket. But when I went home and tried to spin it on the smooth marble floors of our hallways, where I was sure it wouldn't fall off any edge, my father slapped me and took it away.  
  
I didn't cry. But I did lock myself in my bedroom.  
  
Now, years ahead of that summer day, I wish I had kept it somewhere safe to use sometime. In my entire life, I've never had the chance to try it again, see if I really could have made the toy spin like it was supposed to, never falling, never going off the edge. To be perfectly caught in a whirlwind spiral for all eternity, protected from the world.  
  
It's a foolish idea. I hate it, but I sometimes I can't help thinking about it.  
  
Sometimes I think I'm just like that spinning top. In fact, the more I think about it, contemplating the idea, the more I agree with the absurd notion.  
  
I spend my days at Hogwarts being Draco Malfoy, the vicious spoiled brat who's father could destroy half the families who come to this school. I mock, I taunt, I throw harsh barbed words that twist and kill smiles, and I feel a rush of power when I do, addictive. To think I can make them as miserable as me.  
  
Selfish, isn't it?  
  
My nights are different, though. Careening through the twilight hours, all my thoughts turn away from the world, and I feel as though I'm a mirror image of myself, opposite in every way. In the dark, you can examine your own twisted desires and wishes without fear or shame. In the shadows, I can yearn for something warmer than the coldness that bites the room.  
  
Even more selfish. At least I live the days for my father and his ideals. At night, I live for myself.  
  
The school hallways glisten in the faint moonlight that streams in from the wide windows, stones that shimmer with pale imitations of the light. Even down the dark steps to the dungeons where I've gone before, the gentle rays are cast. It's like an eerie painting or snapshot frozen in time, an empty school stretched before me, more silent than my own mansion, which echoes. It feels like every breath is swallowed, every sound.  
  
I glide through this place when no one can see me with my shields down. Absently being someone different, something who doubts and worries. I trace the window cill as my distracted thoughts turn to decisions.  
  
To be Death Eater, or not to be. Give into my father's wishes, that he's struggled to mold me to his entire life, or merely put aside that and go which way I please. I'm tempted to pick the latter, because following has never been my strong suit. Yet neither is going against my family. Without them, without a name, I feel like I'm nothing.  
  
Without the darkness that protects me as a barriar, I would melt in the sun, it seems. How pathetic is that? I've become dependant on the very things I hate. Dependant on my father's strict rules about what I must do with my life and spare time, and even more on the knowledge that fighting with the Dark Lord is what I should be doing.  
  
Here, safe within these walls, I sometimes think even if I did turn, no one could get me here. But that's a lie.  
  
Listlessly, I sink to the floor, leaning back against the cool stone of the wall, and pull my legs up to my chest with my arms. My lashes are thick with something warm, a liquid, and I must be an idiot, because I'm crying *again*. When I shouldn't.  
  
Some Malfoy I make.  
  
It's just... there is no safe place anymore. No matter what side I go to, whether or not I'm good or evil, who I am won't change a thing. Every place on the earth would be filled with people who would never make sure I was safe, everyone's either out to kill me, make me theirs, or just can't stand me. Where is the sanctuary in that? Mm?  
  
My head's spinning again. I really don't feel well.  
  
Draco Malfoy doesn't get sick, though. He doesn't get upset or sad, he doesn't sit in lonely, empty hallways, cold and shaking from the urge to cry, knowing only a few drops will escape before he stops, because he has no tears in him to cry. I'm empty, so very hollow these nights, except for my whirling thoughts that dance in my head. My doubts, my demons.  
  
Draco Malfoy has no demons. There is no doubt about what he's going to do, what side he will choose. His father made sure of that.  
  
I have begun to refer to myself in third person... I really must be going insane. Completely barking mad. I'll end up in some Muggle hospital for the crazy, or an asylum if I'm not careful, just like Longbottom's parents did so long ago. Only I'm not crazy. I just can't stop spinning. Can't fall anywhere, because no matter what edge I jump off of, the bottom will meet me in the end.  
  
My destiny seems to be breaking on the floor.  
  
These nights I wonder about anything, actually. Right now, it seems all I can think of is tomorrow, what I'll do, the things I'll make myself say. Force myself to move the hinges of my joints, open my mouth and sing ugly, poisonous words. They hit me just as much as they do the other person now, for some reason. What happened to the power rush? The thrill and warmth of wanton destruction?  
  
I try so hard to break people, to utterly shatter objects. There's no glue to fix them up, nothing that a magic spell can vanish, what I do is permanent. Or maybe I flatter myself- perhaps no one really hears me at all. Maybe that's it. That's why no one can hear me on the floor right now, curled up against the wall, eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying not to cry out for all the thoughts going through my aching head. I think I'm beginning to reach my limit, it hurts to consider things like this now.  
  
That doesn't stop the doubts, though, and the spinning wildly continues.  
  
It's as though I'm twirling around and round, unable to stop the motion I've created, resigned to that spinning. The top can never stop itself once it's started going, only someone else can do that. If no one cares about the toy, they'll leave it to do whatever it wants forever, like the boy did that summer day. He didn't even care that I took it from him. It was a meaningless bobble to him, an easily replaced item.  
  
My father treats me like that toy.   
  
It's no secret that he could easily get another heir for the family, if he was desperate enough. However, it's just easier and quicker to deal with me, no matter how "weak" he claims I am. I'm not the perfect son he wanted, although he's attempted almost successfully to create me in that image, but at least there's some of him in me. A few traits, habits. Things I watched, taking in me like precious jewels, thinking, "If I'm like my father..."  
  
I don't know whether to be proud of that, anymore. Maybe I should be ashamed. Or scared.  
  
I'm none of those. Just very confused right now, damn it, and I can't stop it from happening at once. The entire world's passing me by in quick flashes of colour, blended together to form a mural or sorts. I'm only watching, trying to see when it stops. When the "spinning top" falls to the floor, I guess.  
  
Blissfully, horribly aware of what's happening to me, I let my father steer me where he wants me to go. Now I feel as though I couldn't stop it if I tried. I have to continue spinning until I fall where he lets me land. Unless someone changes the direction.  
  
It will never happen.  
  
I am Draco Malfoy, and that's just the way it has to be... right?  
  
Right? These days... thinking of that summer back then, when I first recalled feelings of what living was truly like... and now, remembering little moments...  
  
I drag a hand across my wet face shakily. I really am an idiot. I'm almost as bad as Muggles and non-pure bloods now. Almost.  
  
Maybe worse. I moistened my dry lips, whispering to myself,  
  
"Right?"  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
While Draco was locked in his own world, a boy with flashing green eyes watched thoughtfully across from him. Unseen and unheard, sitting awkwardly against the opposite wall, hardly daring to breathe.  
  
Harry Potter made sure to tuck the Invisibility cloak around him tightly when he finally left the broken boy to his own thoughts.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
... Owari for now... ^^;; I didn't like this chapter... it babbles to much, and the ending leaves something to be desired. However... I did get two reviews the first time! YAY! Happiness! Thank you so MUCH, you two! ::hugs them:: Wow, and you liked it... funny, I hated it...  
  
Anyway. ::blushes:: Review if you'd like- please don't hurt me for writing badly. Oh- and PLEASE- important! IMPORTANT! Let me know what you want to see happen. I might make this a slash Harry/Draco if anyone would like. Or I could just do lots and lots of Draco slash. No matter what, in the next chapter... Draco gets a kitty cat somehow... and discovers something he never knew about himself. ;) Take care, minna-san!  
  
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	3. An Issue of Sunsoaking and Trust

Doubts and Spinning Tops  
  
By Kay  
  
Disclaimer: Ayi, I don't own Harry Potter and characters. ^_^;; However, I do happen to steal Draco-chan's pillowcases at night, and therefor own THEM. HAH!  
  
Author's Notes: My angsty Draco fic is back! ::blushes:: Sorry for taking so long- and sorry this part's rushed! I've just been so busy... ::winces:: But, anyway, before anyone asks...  
  
Thank you for the reviews- they mean so MUCH! ::hugs:: And another thing- as of right now, this story will become Harry/Draco slash... perhaps with Blaise/Draco? I'm not sure yet! O.o;; Still deciding what to do with that. Either way, Blaise will be in this story currently... right now as Draco's friends. I'll explain their relationship more later. Will it become more than that, into slash? Er, probably not. ^^;; I WAS doing Harry/Draco. Then again, if anyone's really going to clamour for Blaise/Draco, I could take a 180 turn... ;) Either way, enjoy. It'll develope as it does.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
Sunshine falling down in thick, golden waves warms the dark green grass of spring beneath me, unusually warm for this time of year. I don't bother opening my eyes, calmly recognizing the deep voice next to me. This isn't the first time he's found me like this- laying down in a sunspot, down by the Hogwarts lake by myself, completely oblivious to the world.  
  
I can't see him, but it doesn't take a genius to recognize the rustling beside me- a noise you instinctively match with that of someone settling down on the ground. I remain relaxed, limp as a doll, enjoying the warmth of the lonely sun that soaked into my skin through the dark folds of my robes.  
  
He was always impatient, though, Blaise Zabini was. Slytherins aren't known for their waiting skills, and he was definatly no different.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" he repeated, a slight edge of irritation in his voice. I could hear the scowl settled on his face when he looked down at my prone form sprawled out beside him.  
  
"Nothing... everything... all that," I said indifferently, my voice almost rising into sing song.   
  
I could feel Blaise shift next to me, uncomfortable sitting Indian style on the dirt. Usually I would be there with him- but currently, the long tresses of grass and vegetation were cushioning me a bit, even if the longer blades tickled my neck and face. He didn't complain, though. Blaise Zabini wasn't a boy who liked to make pointless comments, I'd discovered. Days would pass, and he would say many things, but they always had a reason and blunt honesty to them.  
  
That's why I never get up and walk away. Had it been anyone else asking me that question, they would have gotten nothing for their trouble but a cold silence and my own annoyed complaining.  
  
"You can't think about nothing and everything at the same time, Draco," Blaise said airily, and I opened my eyes at that, looking at him with a wide, half-taunting gaze. His narrow, dark blue eyes stared from up above, and for a wild moment, I could have sworn I saw a smile flit across his features.  
  
"You can't?" I let my eyes flutter shut again. "And here I could have sworn that's what I was doing..."  
  
"You're weird, Draco." He sighed loudly, content with it, though, and flopped on his back beside me. We did this occassionally, he and I, when no one was watching. Let our mouths run in total nonsense, and just talk- about our lives, about the world, about... well, anything and everything. We weren't... close. Blaise and I had an understanding, a trust.  
  
He's one of the few I trust. Something not a friend, but hardly an enemy.  
  
"I know I'm weird." Sighing gently, I let my hands drift through the soft blades of the grass again. "I have a right to be, though, which is more than I can say for you."  
  
"Heh, yeah. So you think."  
  
"I don't think. A Malfoy never thinks- he just *knows*." We both laughed at that for a while.  
  
It was a welcome distraction, I'll admit. Before he'd shown up, I was doing exactly what I told him, and thinking about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. Trying to decide what to do with my choices, cursing myself for the random outbreak a few nights ago in the hallway, where I dared to let myself cry again. Again- unacceptable, not more than once...  
  
At least I was alone and no one witnessed the shameful act. That should bring me some comfort, but for the same reason, it makes me feel more lonely and cold than ever. Does that make sense?  
  
Crying is a new exercise to me, but I can already tell it's going to be hard to get used to. Not that I want to get used to it, I have every intention of completely ignoring the urges to give into the growing tendrils of madness gripping my insides. Growing tighter in their hold, I wonder sometimes, if maybe they were there before and I just never noticed.  
  
Doubts. Even in the warmth of this sunlight, I have to shiver. I'm a Malfoy...  
  
I'm not allowed to doubt.  
  
"What's wrong? You're cold on a day like this?" Blaise asks, startling me out of my momentary lapse of attention, reminding me he was still there. He'd seen the slight tremble that raced through me. If it'd been anyone else, I would have been worried. But the Slytherin boy laying next to me is one of the few wizards I know that doesn't... see like everyone else.  
  
"I'm not cold," I told him. "Just thinking. Like I told you."  
  
"Ah. About everything and nothing."  
  
"That sums it up soundly, actually." I can't resist a soft sigh, staring up into the wide blue abyss hanging above me like a robin egg canvas, devoid of clouds or dark threats. It's the day summer's envy.  
  
Blaise isn't studying the sky. He's looking at me. Not in a bad, threatening way... more of a curious, calm detachment that should alarm me, but doesn't. I've seen it enough to know he's only taking in the details no one else sees, and-  
  
"You're starting to see things differently, aren't you?"  
  
I allow a smile, or perhaps it was closer to a bitter smirk, for him. "Differently... you could say that. Or you could say I'm losing my bloody mind. I allow both for this occassion, as they're both accurate."  
  
Blaise doesn't respond to the humor in the situation- I can't imagine why.  
  
Instead, he looks at me with serious, flat-open expression eyes that promised nothing but someone to listen to me. I never see that look, not on anyone but him, and that's why I trust him with my words sometimes. He's not like... them.  
  
At times, I think he's in the same predicament as I'm now in. Doubting, hung in imbalance and wildly grabbing for a solid hold.  
  
"My father wants me to join the Dark Lord when I come home." That was getting to the point, I decided firmly, knowing it was what Blaise expected anyway- at least it wouldn't shock him to hear it. In fact, I swear my heart thudded so loudly against the bones of my ribs, almost breaking them, and it was me who was the one shocked to hear it.  
  
"My father wants me to be a Death Eater," I repeated, a slight edge of hysteria I hadn't noticed entering my voice. Squeezing my eyes shut so tightly not even the glow of the sun could get through, I waited for the boy next to me to answer. To say something. Anything.  
  
He didn't let me down. One of the few to not do so.  
  
"You should have expected that. You're surprised?"  
  
"No. Yes. Not really," I admitted, forcing the answer out from the dry, parched cavern of my throat. It was like a relief blessed itself upon me, lightening the load on my shoulders immeadiatly. Saying it made it feel real. Made it something I could deal with in a place besides the haunted rooms of my slowly decaying mind.  
  
"I didn't think it would be so... soon. That's all," I mumbled to him. "Soon I'll be joining the Dark Lord with my father, and-"  
  
When I stopped, Blaise turns his face to stare compassionately at me. "And...?"  
  
My shoulders were tense. I let out a tiny sound that didn't seem to be able to come from me at all. "And I won't ever have to come back here." The tiny sound made itself a bit louder, and I realized it was a low, keening sound that struck chords inside- memories of broken china and knowledge that wouldn't be the only thing broken by the night was over.  
  
He pretended he couldn't hear- another reason I talked to him. Fear wasn't a weakness for Blaise, only the denial of it.  
  
"What do you want to do?"  
  
"Does it matter?" I asked bitterly, managing to squash the irrational tunnel of scared jitters wiggling under my skin, by crushing them with heavy, pressing boulder feelings of injustice done to me. "To my father, there's only one way to go... *his* way. There is no other alternatives. I'm going to become a servant of the Dark Lord, help him rise to power again and win the war, learn to be just as powerful as he is-"  
  
"I asked," Blaise said quietly, easily slicing through my anguish ladden, hidden from audibility whispers, "what it was that you wanted, Draco."  
  
There's another long silence, leaving only the gentle, teasing chiding of the wind to fill the empty air hanging above us. The sun that seemed so lovely and warm, that was allowing me to embrace it earlier, filling me with it's overwhelming presence, was now much cooler than I'd thought. Or maybe it was just the change in my moods- maybe I only thought I was warm, and the illusion was shattered.  
  
With this in mind, I tried to find the words to answer Blaise's question. What did I want? No, the real question was what didn't I want. What didn't I have that I would give my near-soul for, the last scraps of life left brimming inside of me.   
  
The question made me want to laugh harshly, yell at him in rage, scowl and ignore it. It made me want to hurt and bleed all over the lovely grass, and most definatly made me overfill with frustration. Words that made me want to cry- again. The days of lying, endless nights of doubting were catching up with me now, crowding on my frame. I felt as though I was carrying them all at once.  
  
It's enough to make me hate him for asking it.  
  
I wanted a life, I wanted to say. I want to ignore the fact that I have to make a choice, just go on doing what I could, and forget responsibility. What did I know about that? I wasn't even an adult yet, and already I was thinking of things that would change the courses of my life forever.   
  
Yes, Blaise. I would tell you what I wanted if I thought it mattered. I'd tell you... I wanted to fly, to be everything that everyone else can be without worrying about it. Whimsical ideas of normalicy was what I wanted. Something solid, warm, to keep the world safe and steady for me while everything else was spinning rapidly, another spinning top, only it would be the world instead of *me* spinning.  
  
I wanted to stop the spinning, the doubts. I wanted to sleep dreamlessly.  
  
But, instead, I casually put a cool, arrogant edge into the sharpness of my voice. I give the answer my father would have ordered me to give, tugging on my puppet strings again.  
  
"I want to make my father proud, of course. I have a family name to bring honor to, you know. I'd be..." I faltered momentarily, but delivered the rest in smooth, flawless script. "I'd be proud to have that sort of privilage. Get away from this rotton, stupid school and the idiots here, back to where I belong. Father thinks I could even become one of Voldemort's right hand men if I try hard enough. Get into the inner circle."  
  
Lies, I thought. Liar, liar, liar-  
  
"That would be nice," Blaise mused, and I couldn't tell from his tone if he was serious or not. "I bet you could do it if you tried."  
  
If... not when. Only I would notice the word changing.  
  
"I know I could." L..i..a...r...  
  
My smirk seems frozen to my features, and something inside of me screams at it to melt. I hated masks, loathed the haunghty voice that ripped through my throat, put there from years of teaching by my father and teacher of these ways. With everyone else, it was acceptable. However, I trusted Blaise- and by showing him my mask, I betrayed his trust.  
  
Suddenly, I felt even more ashamed than I had in the past week or so.  
  
Shame is... burning. I feel sick to my stomache.  
  
"Well, I guess I'd better run up to the Owlery before it closes. I was going there before I came," Blaise tossed at me casually, stretching in his place and getting up. Quietly, I look up at him, still laying there in humiliation and hurt self-loathing, probably the most pathetic picture on the planet.  
  
I make myself sick sometimes.  
  
"Yeah, okay. See you."  
  
He smiles polietly, distant- not at all the person who listens to me when I have something to say now, completely earasing the Blaise Zabini I know and trust. The distance was lengthened, and although he's only a few hand spaces away, it feels like there's miles and countries between us. An entire continent of endless, lonely, aching land.  
  
I'm such a pathetic idiot at times.  
  
"Take care," I say instead of whispering sorry. I don't know how to apologize.  
  
"I will. You'll be fine, won't you?" The question wasn't sincere.  
  
I open my mouth to tell him I'll be fine- ease his mind- and instead say, "I don't want to be a Death Eater anymore, Zabini."  
  
There's a long silence, in which I refuse to look at his face anymore, and both of us stare up at the endless oceanic sea of skyscape above us. Just him and I, quietly watching a world we can't seem to touch, and would most likely die of pleasure if we could. Nothing but the heavy world we're enveloped by.  
  
Finally, he says in the softest voice imaginable to my delicate hearing,  
  
"I know."  
  
I know I'm forgiven now, and when I smile, he grins at me and lights up the load on my shoulders. Nochantly, as though he meant to stay all along, he flops back down on the grass beside me, and laughs just a little. Not a funny laugh, or a bitter one, but something more like relief and sadness mixed together. Next, he speaks first, before I've had a chance to comment on it.  
  
"Hey, Draco?"  
  
"Hmm...?" The sun's dimming now, is evening really that close?  
  
Blaise sighs softly, and I feel his elbow brushing mine, warm but just as faint and unsteady as my own. Safe anchors never exist with us Slytherins- and yet we can't manage to float away. The irony nearly kills me.  
  
"I don't want to be a Death Eater, either, Draco."  
  
This time, the irony doesn't surprise me, and I smile as simply as he has to me in the past.  
  
"I know."  
  
We looked at each other at the same time, locking our eyes together, vivid blue with tarnished silver, and cracked identical grins of understanding. Somewhere in the midst, confession had led to more than what I expected- and something told me things would be a little easier to take from now on. Doubts are easier to carry and understand when someone else is there to share them.  
  
Out of the middle of nowhere, I had found friendship, and although my troubles loomed like a black smoked omen on the horizen, they were held off just for a moment.  
  
For a moment, my... my friend and I could just enjoy the upcoming sunset.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
END part three: ^_^ Yay! It's... um... done! And Part Four WILL make more sense and be longer, yes it will... and before you ask most likely, Blaise will be in this story more, but only as Draco's very good FRIEND. ::pauses:: Um, so far. My muses HAVE been known to be evil and insist on more, but I really think that I'll settle for wonderful, lovely friendship. ^_^ YAY! Harry/Draco slash starts next chapter- er, rather- it starts to FORM in next chapter. The real slash doesn't really progress until chapter... um... six, I believe. ::blushes:: Sorry! Eheh... thanks again, reviews! You make my day! ::hugs:: Take caaaare! I'll have a better part next time!  
  
Daisuke!Muse: Hah! Your refridgerator is running! With the pineapple!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~ 


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